


Treading Water

by kuiske



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableism, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Blood, Bodily Fluids, Canon Disabled Character, Dark Thoughts, Drinking, Gen, Hallucinations, Kid James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Panic Attacks, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Permanent Injury, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Self-Harm, Swearing, The Accords, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Torture, Vomiting, a scared child, barf, due to the circumstances of the de-aging, established CW/accords disagreements but no character bashing, imagery of sexual abuse of a child, misuse of BARF, no actual abuse or threat of it, poorly handled trauma and self-therapy, rated for violence and substance abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuiske/pseuds/kuiske
Summary: The first thing Tony does after getting home from Siberia is cancel all his future therapy appointments.He knows it’s a stupid thing to do. He does it anyway. He doesn’t want to talk about it.He’s fine. He’s handling it.At least until a mysterious green light turns Rhodey into a child with no memory of the past decades.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Sam Wilson, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34
Collections: Iron Man Big Bang 2019/2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My IMBB-2019 fic, with art by brokenEisenglas.  
>  ~~For some reason, embedding pictures doesn't work for me, but you can find the art here:~~ I figured out the embedding. Go through the link to give comment/kudos anyway   
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24936238/chapters/60353518

The first thing Tony does after getting home from Siberia is cancel all his future therapy appointments.

He knows it’s a stupid thing to do.

After all, he had sought out therapy in the first place, because the physical representation of his mental health issues had almost destroyed the world. He recognises that quitting therapy after a villain manipulated him into a murderous rage to further his own ends is a bad choice to make.

He makes it anyway.

He’s fine. He’s handling it.

He doesn’t want to talk about it.

In a frenzy of… he doesn’t even know what, but a frenzy it is for sure, he has FRIDAY comb through every single bit of footage of Steve Rogers interacting with people she has access to. Even though she’s limited to the common areas of the compound and what she could scrounge from S.H.I.E.L.D, there is a considerable amount of data. Add to that the files that had survived JARVIS’s death and there was more than enough for Tony to draw certain conclusions.

Steve Rogers was not his friend. 

That was his most important conclusion.

And the most obvious one.

Especially considering that he had straight-up _told_ him that.

As Tony watched Cap interact with the Avengers, years compressed to days, he couldn’t figure out how he had ever missed it. There was Cap’s hand on a teammate’s shoulder, there an almost shy, soft smile. There was showing up when someone was feeling sad with a quiet “Hi”, leaning against a doorframe with patience, trust, kindness, and that damn, bloody smile.

_That_ was how he acted around his friends. And virtually never around Tony.

Tony seemed to fall in the same category with Fury, the best he could tell. Occasionally ‘hostile’, ‘friendly’ when possible.

Oddly enough, it made him feel slightly better.

Cap hadn’t tossed aside his friendship with Tony like it meant nothing. He had simply protected his _actual_ friend from an awkwardly clingy colleague.

More than anything, it had been Tony’s own damn fault, mistaking ‘friendly’ for ‘friendship’. Or ‘prolonged exposure’ for ‘friendship’.

It’s not like it was the first time. Considering his track record, it was unlikely that it’d be the last time, either.

It was fine. It didn’t even matter.

He took it all, the pain, the horror, the guilt, the rage, his _mom_ and Bucky fucking Barnes and shoved it into a box within himself, right alongside the humiliation, the grief, the loneliness and the empty compound and Cap walking away from him without so much as a backward glance. Everything that had happened went into the box, which he slammed shut and pushed as far out of his conscious mind as he could possibly manage.

It was fine. He didn’t care.

He had tons of work to do, besides, and no time to wallow in self-pity.

He was handling it.

He was _fine_.


	2. Chapter 2

Colonel James Rhodes was halfway through the parallel bars when his already screaming muscles seized up with a searing jolt of agony. He’d have fallen on his face right there and then, if not for the pair of hands that caught him mid-air and helped him sit down with some semblance of control, for the sixth time today.

Once too many.

“God _dammit_ , Tony, will you stop hovering for one goddamn second, I’m not a fucking _invalid_!” he snarled in a haze of fury and took a swipe at his best friend.

The blow landed, and so did the words.

Tony lifted his hands up in placation, which only served to irritate him further.

“I was just trying to-“

“Can you just fuck off? Like, can you do that? Are you physically capable of minding your own business? I promise I’ll call you if I need a fucking wet-nurse, just… _Go_. Just get out. _Get out!_ ”

Tony did. He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Rhodey free to slump on the floor and press his cheek against the blessedly cool tiles.

Hooray for victory.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but it was long enough for the pain in his back to settle to a dull throb and sweat to cool on his clothes until he felt clammy and kind of disgusting. It was definitely long enough for his frustrated rage to cool off and be replaced by guilt.

Fuck.

He needed to apologise to Tony.

It burned worse than his tortured muscles; the combination of repeated failures and setbacks and the _humiliation_ of having Tony here to see it all, but… He’d asked for it. It was no kind of an excuse that ‘slightly overbearing’ was more or less a factory setting for Tony, he’d _asked_ him to spot for him so he could avoid calling his physical therapist. In retrospect, there was probably a reason people used professionals for this shit.

Also, if he was going to apologise, he’d need to get up from the nice, cool floor.

_Fuck._

He really should watch his language more. Mom would have his hide if she could hear him now.

Not that she could hear him from Philly. Or inside his head at all.

Probably.

Better not risk it, actually.

He rolled over and reached up to grab a hold of the parallel bar. His arms and back protested violently, but eventually he managed to drag himself back up. He stood there, panting and leaning heavily against the bar, until he gathered up enough strength to wobble the three agonising steps to his wheelchair, where he collapsed and where he fully intended to stay.

At least for now.

Tomorrow he’d be back on the bars, forcing himself through physio exercises that were, strictly speaking, far more strenuous than what the doctor had ordered, but right now, he was done.

He wheeled to the table by the elevator, grabbed a water bottle and emptied it. He was stubbornly refusing to think about the call he’d have to make to Dr Cho and-

Nope.

Not thinking about it. 

He’d had enough bad days in his life to write a book; bad, worse and straight-up nightmarish. Rhodey wasn’t sure yet where today – or this whole week – fell on the spectrum, but it was shaping up to be a whole new chapter of its own. Or a goddamn spinoff series.

“Where is he, FRIDAY? The shop?”

“The penthouse.”

Well, that was a surprise. Tony hated people pointing it out, but he hadn’t spent much time in the penthouse since Pepper had left, and even less since he’d decided to put the Tower up for sale.

“Can you take me up?”

“Sure thing, Colonel.”

The elevator shot upwards and Rhodey was glad that FRIDAY wasn’t irritated with him for lashing out against Tony, or at least not irritated enough to torment him for his sins. She had something of a vindictive streak, and he wouldn’t have put it past her to trap him between the floors for a few hours of Jingle Bells, just to make her point clear.

“Fry told you were coming up,” Tony said as soon as the elevator doors opened. “I poured you a drink, thought you might need one. You can throw it in my face, if you want.”

“Wow. _Wow._ That makes me feel so much better for taking my shit out on you, thanks a million.”

That earned him a smile, at least.

Rhodey hauled himself out of his wheelchair and onto the sofa and Tony slid a glass to him across the table. Technically it was a criminal waste of the fine top-shelf whiskey, but Rhodey didn’t care; he tossed it back in one go.

“Look, Tones-“

He never actually got around to saying “I’m sorry”, because a beam of brilliant green light coming out of nowhere carved across the room and hit him. The light was so bright that it blinded him temporarily. Spots and after-images danced in his eyes as he tried to focus on the…

Room?

What the hell, that wasn’t right, he was just walking home from school, it was just a second ago-

“Rhodey?”

There was a strange man looking at him, astonished. A strange _white_ man, with spots of grey in his carefully styled beard, clutching a glass of something amber in his hand.

Whiskey. There’s a bottle on the table.

And another glass.

Empty.

In front of Jim.

He could still taste the lingering burn.

Oh no.

Jim couldn’t remember being taken. He couldn’t remember how he was brought into this building or where it was, nothing that could be of use to him. He couldn’t even remember drinking the whiskey.

_No no no no no no no no no_

Panic struck like a flash flood and he felt sick, briefly, before he was already vomiting, bringing up alcohol and bile.

The stranger made a strangled sound and leaped towards him.

Still retching, Jim grabbed the bottle from the table for a weapon and tried to _run_ , but his legs refused to work. They were trapped in some sort of metal vices that stopped him from moving. He crashed on the floor between the table and the sofa, too surprised to even begin to brace for the impact.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

He hates how scared his voice sounds.

Jim is still gripping his weapon, his only lifeline, and now he bashes it against the floor.

The smell of alcohol was overpowering and there were glass shards everywhere. The fancy bottle didn’t break as neatly as he’d hoped it would, but the neck made a nice handle and there’s one long, sharp edge that could do a lot of damage.

“Don’t you fucking come any closer, you sick fuck, I’ll gut you were you stand!”

It’s an empty threat, mostly, since he _can’t get up from the floor_ , but if it’s the last thing he’ll do, he’ll stab his kidnapper and make it count.

It might well _be_ the last thing he’ll ever do.

Surprisingly, the man obeys. He even takes a step backwards.

“Rhodey? Jim? _Kid?_ How- Do you remember me? Do you know who I am?”

“Should I?”

Jim has no idea who he is, but he knows _what_ he is. Everything about the room and the man practically _scream_ obscene wealth and power. He can’t quite figure out how he knows it, but he _knows_ , and he knows he’s going to pay for making him bleed.

Hell, he’s probably going to pay just for breaking the bottle.

Jim had to bite his lip, hard, to force down a sob. He’s _not_ going to cry in front of this man.

His eyes well up anyway.

The sicko even _dressed_ him without him knowing, into clothes that are much too big for him, an adult man’s clothes.

No, he’s not getting out of here alive.

Jim clutched the bottle even harder.

_Make it count._

“I won’t hurt you.” The kidnapper’s voice is shaking, and so are his hands. “Please. Don’t- I don’t know what happened, yet, but I swear I’m not going to do you harm. Just… Let me help you back up. Please.”

“You stay where you are!” Jim tried to snarl. “Where am I? Where’s my mom?”

He hadn’t meant to ask that. It’d just slipped out.

“You’re in the Stark Tower and your mom is… an excellent idea actually. Fry, call Roberta Rhodes.”

“On it, boss,” a female voice answered through invisible speakers.

The kidnapper knew his mom?

To think of it, he had actually known Jim’s name, too.

What the hell was happening?

Was this a ransom kidnapping? Or extortion?

What for? They weren’t rich or powerful.

Had mom seen something she shouldn’t have?

Was the kidnapper a mob boss?

He didn’t quite know when he’d lost the track of what was happening, but confusion was gaining ground from fear and that was _poison_ to his resolve of making sure his kidnapper died with him. Jim could practically feel the fight trickle out of his body. He was frozen on the spot fully against his will like a rabbit in front of a wolf, and he didn’t much care for the comparison.

“She’s not picking up, boss.”

“Try Jeanette Rhodes.”

“Her phone is switched off.”

“Lila Rhodes?”

Who the fuck was that? Jim didn’t know any Lilas.

“God _dammit,_ Tony, this’d better be important, like there’d better be aliens again or demons or something!” An irritated girl’s voice shattered the tense silence. “You know we eat early, and you _know_ what grandma thinks of phones and dinnertime!”

“Lila is your grandmother there? It’s about Rhodey.”

“Oh _fu_ -a-a-ather, I didn’t mean- Grandma! Tony’s calling! It’s uncle Jim!”

Who the fuck was _uncle Jim???_

“Tony? What’s happened? Is my Jimmy hurt?”

“Mom?” Jim almost burst into tears just hearing her voice. Although… “Mom, you sound so _old!”_ ’

“James Rupert Rhodes, I’ll show you _old_ , just you wait! Wait, you- Did you two play with helium again? You know that’s not good for your-”

“Mrs. Rhodes, please listen.” The kidnapper was talking very fast. “No helium. There was some sort of… magic, I guess, I don’t know, but Rhodey, Jim, he’s… I don’t- I know this sounds insane, but he’s currently maybe 8 years old, somehow.”

“I’m _ten!_ ” Jim snapped.

It felt good, the indignation of being mistaken for a _baby_. It felt normal. He was grateful for a little bit of normal, next to the fact that his mom apparently knew his kidnapper. It didn’t make sense.

He was feeling a bit dizzy, truth be told, though he wasn’t sure if it was the… everything… that was happening or just the alcoholic fumes. Sprawling on the floor in a puddle of expensive booze and – gross – his own vomit surely couldn’t _help_ his clarity of mind. His pants were soaked with whiskey.

Jim went cold all over.

His pants were soaked, but he didn’t feel wet.

Jim wiggled and pushed until he was free, both from the metal things trapping his legs and the much-too-big sweatpants that were caught on the metal things. It was of no use. He tried to kick, and nothing happened.

His mom’s conversation with the kidnapper faded into a strange sort of static.

Jim poked his calf with his almost-forgotten weapon.

Nothing.

His hand was shaking a little and his mind rebelled against what he was about to do. Jim ignored both. He tightened his grip on the broken bottle, braced for the pain he wished would come, and jammed the sharp edge into his leg as hard as he could.

“No, wait! Don’t-!”

The kidnapper’s voice sounded alarmed and Jim couldn’t have cared less.

He watched his blood bloom on the glass and run freely from the wound and he felt nothing at all.

The bottle fell from his hand and clattered on the floor. The shard that he’d stabbed himself with broke off and remained sticking up from his leg.

He stared at the grotesque sight and his heart clenched funnily, like it had when mom had sat him down and explained that daddy wasn’t ever coming back home.

His body convulsed with a huge sob.

“Mama!” Jim cried out in anguish.

It was an instinct, the only thing he could think of, the only person who could make this right.

“Mama, _help_ , I can’t get up, I can’t feel my legs!”

Then there was nothing, nothing except tears and pain and fear and pain and pain and pain, except for where there was _nothing_. Deaf even to his mother’s voice trying to comfort him through her own crying, Jim barely noticed the kidnapper picking him up from the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony tried to will his hands to stop shaking as he bent down to pick up the inconsolable child that only moments before had been his best friend.

His best friend _and_ two years his senior.

Who definitely knew who Tony was.

His mind still struggled to comprehend what had happened, a rare occurrence if there ever was one.

De-aged or displaced? Was there an adult Rhodey trapped somewhere in the -70s?

The Rhodey that was here with him now wasn’t trying to fight him anymore. A part of him was grateful for that, because the last thing he wanted was to drop him by accident or – _fuck_ – restrain him by force.

Mostly, he was just terrified.

_Fight me!_ he wanted to say, wanted to yell, to beg, to scream, because the other option was defeat, and that didn’t suit Rhodey. _Fight me, hit me, goddammit!_

_Please?_

_Know me!_ a smaller, uglier, hateful voice inside him snarled; a hideous thing that wanted to shake this weeping child until the adult fell out. _Know me!_

Tony recoiled from himself in horror and did what he could to stop himself from careening off of this particular cliff, harshly, without mercy. He took the idea of his Rhodey and pushed him out, as far over the edge of his consciousness as he possibly could.

Right now, there was nothing he could do for him.

Right now, there was a small body on his arms, light, so light, and before he even realised it, Tony found himself holding him tighter against his chest and murmuring small, nonsensical words of comfort. It was unlikely that he’d get through – Mrs. Rhodes hadn’t seemed to – and he had no illusions about his general presence being welcome at the moment. But he couldn’t help it.

A child was crying.

Therefore, he had to try and comfort the child.

It was an instinct, something written in his genes, a basic feature of humanity.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, almost choking on his pain and lies he hoped weren’t lies. “It’s all right, it’s gonna be all right, I’m going to fix this, I promise."

Tony carried Rhodey to his bedroom and set him down on the bed that hadn’t been slept in for weeks.

“I’m going to clean this wound and stop the bleeding,” he said, trying to sound like he had this under control. “You’re going to need a couple of stiches, but don’t worry, I’ve done this before. I’ll just get the first aid kit from the bathroom.”

Rhodey’s tears were drying out, replaced by frightening apathy.

He didn’t even blink in acknowledgement.

Tony had never been more grateful for all the times he’d been injured as Iron Man, because it meant that every place he owned was well-stocked with medical equipment. Nevertheless, the 20 steps to the bathroom and back had never felt so long or slow.

Time sure worked funny in a crisis.

Why did his thoughts sound like Little House on the Prairie?

_Focus!_

And don’t. Panic.

He picked the glass shards from the wound and stitched it up in silence, more nervous than he’d ever been. If he messed this up somehow, he could do some serious damage. Rhodey wouldn’t be able to feel that something was wrong even after the local anaesthesia faded. He appeared to have no feeling in his legs at all.

As far as he knew, Rhodey had never experienced a complete sensory loss in his legs. There had been pain he’d tried to downplay and cover up, especially immediately after his injury, and there was the obvious paralysis, but…

A new development like this was a case for serious concern even without the… whatever the hell it was that was going on.

Maybe Rhodey’d taken a worse fall that it had looked like, when he’d tried to flee earlier tonight.

Maybe it was a side effect of… being turned into a child? Traveling in time? He really had to find out which it was, and _soon_. He wouldn’t be able to fix anything unless he knew what it was that he was supposed to be fixing.

“Hey? Hey, R- kid, I need you to listen for a bit,” Tony said after he’d fastened the bandage. “I don’t know how much you heard, but your mom is coming over. It’s gonna be about three hours, if everything stays in schedule, she’s taking the train. We talked it over, it’s probably safer than driving right now, considering, and there’s no point in sending the jet, it wouldn’t win enough time to be worth drawing all that attention. But point is, she’s coming over. As soon as she can. You understand?”

No reply, but Tony chose to believe he’d been heard and understood.

“Good. I could give you a mild sedative, if you want? Help you calm down, maybe sleep for a bit?”

**_“No!”_ **

Well. At least that was a reaction.

Dark eyes stared him down like daring him to make a fight out of this, startled back into life.

Tony could’ve done without Rhodey flinching away from him, or without the clenched fists and jaw, or the baleful glare with fear rippling underneath, but an active response had to be a positive thing. Right?

He forced a smile on his face.

“Okay. Is there anything you need? Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“Go away.”

“Okay,” he said again. “If you need anything, just ask FRIDAY. She’s my AI, she can hear you, if you speak out loud. She’ll tell me if you need help, or if you want something.”

“I want you to _go away!_ ”

“Okay.”

Tony managed to hold himself together as he retreated from his bedroom and closed the door. In fact, he _almost_ made it all the way to the living room sofa, but the sight of blood and shattered glass was too much. The room spun, his knees buckled, and he wilted on the floor.

“Fry,” he gasped. “Call Pepper.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing exercises while he waited for her to pick up.

Hopefully she _would_ pick up.

Preferably before the blood finished swirling into a wormhole.

_Breathe_.

“Tony, have you got _any_ idea what time it is in Tokyo right now?!”

Pepper’s sleepy, irritated voice might as well have been an angel choir, he was so happy to hear her voice.

“Not quite 4 am,” Tony replied. “I’m sorry.”

“Half past four, actually, but surprisingly accurate. What’s going on?”

Tony glanced at his watch. 15.32. Huh.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise how long it- sorry. Time. Sorry. There’s a situation. I need you to delay selling the Tower.”

“Tony. What happened?”

“I don’t know. Superhero stuff. Magic. I guess. _Fuck_ ,” Tony rubbed his eyes and fought the urge to giggle. That never went over well in these situations. “Rhodey’s been turned into a child.”

_“Come again?!”_

“Rhodey’s been turned into a child. Or maybe not. It _could_ be time travel and the adult Rhodey’s currently Back to the Futuring it in the past. Time travel switch, I mean, ‘cause I suppose being physically transformed into a child could also technically count as time travel. I’ll have to think about it. Anyway. There was a green light, and then, poof. He’s currently ten years old. Doesn’t know who I am. That was fun. So. Delay selling the Tower. The penthouse is now a superhero crime scene and I don’t need anyone messing it up. _Or_ the publicity, hell, I can’t even begin to imagine. Which is saying something. This _needs_ to stay under wraps, we can’t afford a hit like this, not now.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Pepper exhaled emphatically.

“That’s what I said.”

“I really miss the times when you calling me to talk about possible time travel just meant I had to get a medic to check your blood alcohol content.”

Pepper paused for a while.

“Well, I don’t _actually_ miss that, but you know. At least there was a one-size-fits-all -treatment for solid 70 % of your weirdness. How’s Rhodey taking this, is he all right? Do you have a plan of action?”

“He’s about as _all right_ as possible, considering he’s a child in a stranger’s house and just found out he’s paralyzed now. It was ugly. But Mrs. Rhodes is coming over, that should make it a little bit better for him. He doesn’t exactly want _me_ around.”

Tony swallowed.

“And no, I haven’t got a plan. Maybe a tentative one. I’ll start analysing what data I have ASAP, and I’m calling Vision home. The light looked familiar save for the colour, he might be able to sense something. Or even reverse the effects, if we’re really lucky. Probably won’t be, it’s a long shot.”

“Tony. Are _you_ all right?”

“I’m.” Tony did not look at the swirling abyss of the blood still gleaming on his floor. “I’m fine.”

_“Tony.”_

“I am, I am fine. Conscious, lucid, present. Not standing up, admittedly, but working on it. _Fine_.”

“That sort of _fine_ leads to property damage and very expensive therapy,” Pepper said with all the exhaustion of lived experience, though she was hiding it well. “But I guess it’ll have to do under the circumstances. What do you need me to do?”

“Pep, I don’t- It’s fine, I’ll handle it, this is exactly the sort of stuff you needed a break from when-”

“Yeah, it is. That, and never knowing if or when you were going to end up killing yourself. That hasn’t changed.” Pepper’s voice took a steely tone. “But the fact is, with Rhodey out of commission and Happy still mostly on babysitting duty, I’m all you’ve got. So. What do you need me to do?”

Tony felt himself choke up.

God, but he’d never in a million years begin to deserve her.

“I need a plausible reason to delay selling the Tower. I’d say tell them that I threw a one-man rager and thrashed the place, but we can’t have _that_ sort of publicity, either. So, something plausible, but as dull and un-newsworthy as possible.”

“I’ll think of something and e-mail you the cover we’re running with. FRIDAY’ll yell it out to you, if you haven’t read it within ten minutes of receiving it. Anything else? A plausible reason for Rhodey’s disappearance?”

“Yeah. That shouldn’t be too hard, he hasn’t been in public too much since Leipzig. I don’t think he’s even been outside in days. Some private health spa, maybe?”

“There are a couple I’ve actually suggested to him, only he’s been as stubborn about taking a holiday as _some_ I could mention. I’ll pick a spa and fix the trail. They are all very discreet.”

“’Discreet’ is one way to put it,” Tony snorted, almost amused despite himself. “I wouldn’t be surprised, if some of those places had back-up clones of Putin under luxurious lock and key. Just in case an unfortunate shirtless riding mishap occurs and a spare copy’s needed, of course.”

“Of course.”

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Tony didn’t mind.

He still wanted to curl up on the floor and cry, but other than that, he was feeling a lot better. It was easier to breathe, just knowing that he’d been heard. He’d been listened to and actually _heard_ , and she was still there – thousands of miles away, but _there,_ nonetheless.

“I…”

_I love you_ , he didn’t say.

She knew, for all the good it did.

“I should get to work,” Tony said after a small eternity had passed, or about 10 seconds according to his watch. “And you should probably get back to sleep.”

“It’s all of 17 minutes till my alarm. I’m sure I can think of better uses for that than a frustrating nap.”

“Sorry. And thank you.”

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too, you know. I really wish that’s all it took.”

“Me too,” Tony exhaled shakily. “Take care, Miss Potts.”

“And you, Mr. Stark.”

The call ended.

The silence was deafening.

God, but he hated silence.

_No time._

_Focus._

“What’s Rhodey doing, Fry?”

“Nothing, boss. He hasn’t moved or spoken since you left the room.”

Not good. Mrs. Rhodes couldn’t arrive soon enough.

“Right,” he said with exaggerated energy, trying to jump start the part of his scattered brain that was of any use to anyone. “Fry, keep keeping an eye on Rhodey. The rest of your eyes I need gathering data. Pull absolutely everything on the green light zero-hour event you can get you digital hands on, plus 30 minus 60 minutes. And ping Vision and brief him. Tell him to take a rain check on the date he’s not on with the girlfriend he doesn’t have, I need him here _yesterday._ ”

“Should I instruct him to brief the renegade team?”

Tony froze. An outdated phone that he barely even noticed anymore suddenly grew very heavy in his pocket and he wondered how he had ever _stopped_ being constantly aware of it.

“Yes,” he said finally. If Vision briefed them, he wouldn’t have to. “But tell him to make it very clear to them that I don’t want the prodigal children returning home. Unless they have _very_ specific information on this, any net gain from their help will be immediately negated by the absolute shit tornado that them being back here would cause, and I don’t have the time to run around putting out fires right now.”

_Also, I’m not sure, if I want them to come back. How the hell am I supposed to face them like nothing’s happened, after everything?_

He wanted to believe that he’d beg on his knees for them to return, if he thought it could help Rhodey. But as it was…

“I’ll relay the message.”

“Tell Vision to speak very slowly. Two syllable words, maximum.”

“I’ll relay that too.”

“Please don’t, actually.”

“An _edited_ message has been sent, boss. Initial footage from the security cameras waits on the workshop screens.”

Tony took a deep breath.

The room had stopped spinning sometime during his call with Pepper, and the dark blurs on the edges of his dangerously narrowing line of vision had settled and successfully transformed back into his furniture. When he chanced a look, he found that the blood on the floor had gone back to being just blood again.

Tony allowed himself an additional fraction of a moment to center himself before pulling himself up from the floor.

He felt a little shaky, but the floor didn’t sway and the walls stayed put.

More than good enough to be going on with.

“Great. Let’s go see what the hell we’re dealing with.”


	4. Chapter 4

The kidnapper left and closed the door behind him, but Jim didn’t breathe any easier. For whatever reason, the kidnapper had revealed to him that he had a super-computer monitoring the sounds coming from this room. Jim had no idea how advanced it was – they weren’t even supposed to exist outside movies yet – but of all the impossible things the kidnapper had told him, that one he was ready to believe.

Jim wanted to fall on the bed and hide under the luxurious coverings, but he was afraid to. He wasn’t sure if he could get back up again and he didn’t want the kidnapper to find him lying down on his bed. His best-case scenario, making himself look even weaker on top of all the crying, was bad enough, and his worst-

He didn’t want to think about his worst-case scenario.

But then, neither did he want to think about _why_ he might not be able to get up again.

If he concentrated very hard, he was able to keep from looking down and seeing his bandaged leg and the large splotch of blood that had ruined the duvet. It was too bad he couldn’t ignore the lingering smell of disinfectant as well, but at least that didn’t make him feel sick.

Taking his mind off the things he refused to think about would’ve been easier, if the room weren’t so damn _boring_. Jim wondered if it was by design, because surely rich people were supposed to have more _stuff_ , not just a ridiculous bed that could’ve housed a family of five. Like gilded statues and portraits and shark tanks built into the walls they could drop their enemies into. This guy seemed to live in a hotel room. Except a hotel room this fancy surely would’ve had a goddamn TV. And see-though windows. And a room service. That would be nice, he was starting to feel hungry.

The computer probably passed for a room service though, if he could, in theory, ask for a sandwich and be understood. At least it wouldn’t be able to snoop on him on the pretext of bringing him food, though. It’s not like it-

Jim froze in horror.

It hadn’t crossed his mind until now. He had no way of knowing for sure, but if the computer had ears in this room, then… there was a chance it had eyes as well.

Maybe that’s why the kidnapper had told him that he could be _heard_. To create a false sense of security, so that Jim wouldn’t think about being _seen_.

It had worked, too.

This could still be a trap.

Now he had two things to concentrate on. Not looking down _and_ not giving anything away in case someone was watching.

He wasn’t feeling hungry anymore.

Jim started to count seconds, minutes, to see how long it’d be until mom came to get him, because he needed _something_ to do and there wasn’t even a fucking _clock_ in here to help him keep track of the time.

He prayed that she really was coming, and that she would get to leave, too, and take him out of here with her.

That it hadn’t just been a giant lie to keep him quiet.

One minute, fifteen seconds, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…

*

In the end, it was blessedly easy to slip back into the work mode and immerse himself in the data. It helped that the readings he had on the green light were _fascinating_. Not identical to the Tesseract, not even close, but comparing the data from four years ago to the data from today, he could see… a harmony between the two. An obvious rhyme.

“Vision, does your computer have enough processing power to handle this?”

“Technically, I am my own computer, Mr. Stark. I have plenty of processing power.”

“Toeing the line between completely literal and dry wit there again, buddy, well done. What do you make of this?”

“It’s curious.”

Tony fought the urge to sigh. He changed the order of a couple of screens, just to have something to do with his hands.

“I was hoping for a bit more detailed take. A guesstimate will do.”

“There appear to be great similarities between the green light and the Tesseract’s energy. We cannot confirm the hypothesis, since we can’t reproduce the energies, but my… _educated guess_ is that they belong together, somehow.”

Vision was clearly getting better at expressing his opinions with his tone. Tony supposed that if you had a computer for a brain, you weren’t a big fan of guesses of any kind.

Too bad, because their present data wasn’t likely to get any more conclusive than this.

“That’s what I thought too. What about your stone?”

“It’s very likely that there is a connection, if a weaker one.”

“So, the hypothesis is that we’re dealing with something that’s related both to your stone and to the Tesseract. Can we draw a conclusion that the source of the green light is likely to be a solid entity of some kind?”

“Not without doubt. Thor did mention he encountered yet another source of similar power in a form that by his description resembled a highly cohesive but unstable liquid. That opens up a possibility of a liquid or gaseous source for this. It could even be plasma or something else entirely.”

“With ‘something else’ being the most likely. Great. Just great,” Tony rubbed his eyes. “Just what I needed, having to go hunt for maybe gases in the New York sky. What’s your ETA?”

“Tomorrow, since I’m traveling incognito.”

“I suppose that’ll have to do. Keep running the data. Alert me, if something stands out.”

“Likewise, Mr. Stark. See you soon.”

“See ya.”

FRIDAY cut the call and Tony squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like he was on the verge of connecting a few dots, but he couldn’t quite… connect them.

_Eloquent, Stark._

He needed coffee.

Tony wasted some time locating his half-full coffee cup between a stack of books and an engine-carcass, so he decided to forego all good taste and gulped it down cold. The foul taste of maybe-yesterday’s-hopefully-not-last-week’s coffee didn’t provide him with any sudden epiphanies, but at least he was fully awake now. And in dire need of a breath mint.

“Fry, any news on Rhodey?”

“Same news as before, boss. He’s not moving or speaking.”

“Is he _conscious?_ ”

“Yes. Judging by his heart rate, I’d say he’s-“

“Scared,” Tony finished her sentence grimly. “Of- _fucking_ -course he is. Is there anything I can do? Keeping in mind he really doesn’t want me anywhere near him?”

“You can figure out how to transform him back into an adult, boss.”

“Thanks. Super helpful. I meant right now.”

“You might consider taking him something to eat and drink, regardless of whether he wants you to. Mounting evidence suggests it’s incredibly unlikely that he’ll ask for anything, even if he needed to.”

Tony wanted to kick himself.

No, Rhodey probably wouldn’t do anything to draw attention to himself. What kind of a scared child _would_?

He should’ve realised that from the get-go.

_Stupid. Negligent. Bastard._

He brushed his hands hastily against his pants as he made his way to the kitchen, then thought better of it and actually washed them. He didn’t want to accidentally poison the poor kid with workshop residue, on top of everything else.

“Do I even have anything that children- Hell, do I have anything that humans eat?” Tony asked, casting suspicious looks to his cupboards. “Or do I have to order out?”

“You have dried apple slices and parmesan biscuits that are safe for human consumption and don’t require cooking.”

“Excellent.” That was better than Tony’d dared hope. “If you break them down to their basic components, the biscuits are essentially a cheese sandwich, and fruit is just generally good for people.”

“Barring for allergies, but I don’t find any mention of apple allergy in Colonel Rhodes’ records,” FRIDAY said. “Also, your Italian blood’ll rebel and strike you down with an embolism, if you keep saying things like that, boss."

“I’ll take that risk,” Tony said and grabbed the food, and a couple of water bottles while he was at it, and headed towards his bedroom.

Trying to knock on the door without dropping anything _or_ sounding like he was trying to break it down was a bit of an embarrassing display, but luckily no one but FRIDAY was around to witness it.

“Hey Rh- kid? I’m coming in.”

Rhodey really was sitting on the exact same spot where Tony’d left him over two hours ago. He pulled his back up straight when he saw Tony coming in, but he still looked very small and very alone.

Tony took a quick stock of his general demeanour and decided they’d both be better off, if he sat down on the floor a decent distance away. His knees and back filed strong complaints, but what else was new.

He browsed his catalogue of smiles, trying to find the least threatening one, before scrapping all of them. He didn’t really feel like smiling, and adult Rhodey, at least, had a weapons-grade bullshit detector. Disingenuity could backfire immediately and gruesomely.

“Are you hungry?” he asked softly. “I brought snacks. And water.”

“No.”

Well, that was a damn lie if he ever heard one.

“Sure?” He probably thought Tony had poisoned the food or something. “You mind, if I eat?”

“Do you care?” Rhodey asked defiantly.

 _Always,_ he almost said.

_Wow. Not creepy at all, well done._

Tony didn’t say anything and started to nibble on an apple slice to prove that it was safe. It was actually pretty good.

“Please eat something,” he said once he was done chewing. “Your mom will rain hellfire on me for starving you.”

“I’m not hungry,” Rhodey said again, though less certainly this time. “Who are you? How do you know my mom? How do I know you _really_ know her?”

Right. He really wouldn’t know.

Tony considered offering information in exchange for Rhodey eating a biscuit, but he was almost certain that blackmail-flavoured bartering had been discredited as a child-rearing technique. It certainly wouldn’t build any trust.

So. Basic info.

“My name is Anthony Stark. Everyone calls me Tony. You probably heard your mom and Lila call me that. You’re in the Stark Industries’ HQ in New York.”

Rhodey narrowed his eyes.

“Nice try,” he said, baring his teeth. “But my library gets the Popular Mechanics. SI’s Tony Stark is _eight_. How about you lie better, next time.”

Tony almost smiled for real. A weapons-grade bullshit detector, for sure. Also, Rhodey’d never told him that he’d read that issue.

“I really am _that_ Tony Stark.”

“Are you on drugs?" Rhodey asked warily. “Is that why you kidnapped me? You went on a bad trip and made this shit up? Just let me go, I promise I’ll keep quiet. You’ll never hear of me again.”

“I didn’t kidnap you,” Tony said and closed his eyes, silently berating himself for not straightening this up sooner. “I’m sorry. I should’ve handled this better. I didn’t really stop to think the implications of all of this, I mean _really_ think about them. Was too busy freaking out.”

How had S.H.I.E.L.D broken the news to Cap after they’d thawed him? He should’ve taken the time to call Fury and ask for some pointers. How the hell was he supposed to soften a blow like this?

“The thing is,” Tony hesitated. “And I know this will sound like it supports your LSD-theory, but the thing is… you’ve travelled in time. Maybe. I’m not sure yet. Details, not relevant. But the year is currently 2016. I really was eight when you were ten. You were an adult man a couple of hours ago. We’ve been friends since college. That’s how I know your mom.”

Rhodey started to inch away from him and looked like he regretted ever letting go of his weapon. Tony supposed he couldn’t really fault him for that.

“You’re lying,” Rhodey whispered. “You’re mad and lying.”

“Often,” Tony admitted ruefully. “Not now. I’m so sorry.”

“I can prove it,” he added as an afterthought. “Fry, can you open the TV for me. CNN will do.”

A holographic TV-screen opened against an empty white wall. It was a pretty damn jaw-dropping sight even to people from the present day, let alone to someone from the 70s. Granted, the holo-screen wasn’t technically proof of the year _or_ the time travel, but he felt like it was a reasonably persuasive argument nevertheless.

“Boss, Mr. Hogan and Mrs. Rhodes are pulling into the garage.”

Thank you, asshole God, for this tiny scrap of mercy.

“Send them right up.”

*

Jim stared with numb disbelief as the unnaturally crisp pundits made way for a weather report of unbelievable image quality on an impossible TV-screen.

There was no way this was real.

There just wasn’t.

It was just some psycho rich guy with Star Wars technology.

It proved nothing.

Then a heavyset white man opened the door, and his mom walked in, and there was no more room left in Jim’s head for the sci-fi TV or its crazy owner’s ramblings.

“Mama!” he cried and pushed himself off the bed – and would’ve hit the floor, if the kidnapper hadn’t caught him and lifted him back on it.

Right.

He’d forgotten his legs didn’t work. At the moment, he didn’t even _care_. The kidnapper stepped aside and his mom was right there, pulling him into her arms. Jim buried his face into her chest and hung onto her blouse, knuckles white. He thought he might’ve been crying again, but he didn’t care about that either.

When mom pulled back a little, he could see there were tears in her eyes too.

“My Jimmy,” she whispered and her voice broke a little. “My sweet little boy.”

He could also see that she didn’t just sound old, she actually _was_ old. Her hair had gone all white and she had wrinkles now, real ones, not just around the eyes.

“Mom, what _happened_?” he asked, reaching out to touch her face to make sure it was real and not… movie makeup or something.

“Time,” she said and sat down on the bed next to him. “Just time, baby.”

“I’m not a baby, Nettie’s the baby,” he replied automatically.

Then his brain caught up.

Oh God.

“Mom, is it true? What _he_ ’s saying? That it’s 2016 and I’m… Old?”

“You aren’t old. What would that make me, if my son’s old?” she said with the voice she used when she didn’t want him to notice something was wrong. “And Tony says a lot of things, some of it nonsense. But it really is 2016 right now.”

Jim glanced at the kidnapper – _Tony_ _Stark_ – who was hovering uncomfortably around the door.

“He says we’re friends,” he said, lowering his voice so that only mom could hear him. “Do I have to be his friend? I don’t think I like him, mom.”

Maybe he hadn’t lowered his voice enough, because Stark’s posture went a bit stiff, and he hovered even more uncomfortably, until the door-opening guy took him by the elbow and discreetly led him out of the room.

“You are his friend,” mom said gently. “But you only met him when you were seventeen. You don’t have to like him now, if you don’t want to.”

That was a relief. Jim didn’t like his cousins either, but mom always made him be friends with them at Thanksgiving. But then, they were family.

Jim leaned against mom and closed his eyes. Her arm around his shoulders felt good, but what he really wanted to do was to crawl into her lap and stay there. He couldn’t though. Not because he felt too grown up for it, which he sometimes did, he just plain _couldn’t_. He was practically burning to ask mom what had happened to him. There were two reasons why people couldn’t walk: because they were born that way or because they’d been badly hurt. Jim had been born just fine, so that just left the hurt. But he figured that asking might make mom cry again, so he decided to keep quiet. Plus, the computer might still be listening and _that_ wasn’t any of its business.

“Can we go home,” he asked instead. “Mom, I want to go home.”

*

Happy was heaven-sent.

Tony didn’t want to think about how long it would’ve taken him, on his own, to take the bloody hint and give Rhodey and his mom some privacy. Happy just picked up his slack, got him out of there, and didn’t say anything about it. No pity, no awkward Hallmark card comfort, not even forced conversation on a completely different topic. Tony’d be eternally grateful for that.

“This weirdness never gets less weird,” was Happy’s only comment.

Tony had to agree.

“Hap, can you handle everything Spider-Kid -related for the foreseeable future?” he asked, picking his way across glass-shards and blood stains to the sofa. “I’m going to be very busy trying to fix this and I don’t have time to be hands-on with a teenager, unless he literally jumps off a building without web-fluid.”

“Sure,” Happy promised easily. “I’ll add ‘superbaby-sitter’ to my resume.”

“I’ll give you a raise.”

“No. A car.”

“Done.”

Happy found himself an armchair a decent distance away from the gory mess.

“Do you have any idea _how_ to start fixing this?”

“Not really,” Tony admitted. “I’m starting to form a theory on _what_ might’ve caused it though.”

“Want to run it by me? Dumbed down for us regular mortals, mind you.”

Tony smiled. He did his best thinking with his hands, but having a sounding board came a close second, and Happy knew it too.

He started to recite everything he had found out about the green light and the things relating to it. He was halfway through retelling his and Vision’s conversation on the Tesseract, when his brain came to a comically screeching halt.

“Space,” he breathed incredulously. “I’m an idiot. It creates a wormhole, it cuts through _space_. The green light messes with _time._ ”

There was his connection. They were different aspects of the same power.

Space and time.

Well, duh.

“Anything to add, Hap? Questions?”

“Just the one,” Happy said. “Do you have a child-sized wheelchair? This sounds like it’s going to take a while.”

“ _Fuck._ FRIDAY?”

“Making a purchase.”

“You’d better have it ship to Philly,” Mrs. Rhodes said as she exited the bedroom and closed the door behind her. “Jim wants to go home.”

Tony felt like he’d just taken a header straight to a girder. Sure, he knew baby Rhodey didn’t like him or want anything to do with him, yes, sure, but he’d… He’d assumed that Mrs. Rhodes would stay in the Tower with him, or the Compound. Not take him home, away from the massively heightened security protocols and on-site medical team.

“Mrs. Rhodes, think about this for a minute,” he objected. “I won’t rest fixing this, but it’ll take time and the Tower is safer, the Compound even more so, I can have blast shields up in a minute there if something happens, the secur-“

“Something already happened, Tony,” Mrs. Rhodes’ tone didn’t invite more backtalk. “And it’s not just about _being_ safe. My son don’t _feel_ safe here, does he now?”

No.

No, he really didn’t.

Tony deflated. He wanted to argue, but it wasn’t that long ago since he’d received a practical lesson on this exact subject. His SUV-bruises had barely healed.

“Would you… accept added security in Philadelphia?” he almost pleaded. “Discreet. No contact, unless necessary. Just…”

“We’ll talk about it. Once you’ve calmed down a bit. And had something to eat.” Mrs. Rhodes’ voice softened. “I mean it, Tony. You look like you just crammed three nights of no sleep into a few hours.”

“I could say the same, if I was brave enough,” Tony said with a wan press smile. “Will you at least eat? While you wait for the wheelchair to arrive? It ships from Jersey, it’ll be here in no time. I don’t actually have food, but there’s take out.”

Mrs. Rhodes took a while to consider it.

“I will have the goat from that nice young man’s corner place,” she said eventually. “It’s probably better to get a regular burger for Jim, he was a little picky at that age.”

“Hap?”

“Burger for me too.”

“Great.” His smiled stayed on a little better now. “Great.”

*

 _It’s better like this_ , Tony said to himself, once everyone had eaten and he was alone. _I’ll have time to concentrate on the work. No guests, no distractions._

He was feeling a bit distracted, though. Rattling around the workshop, not able to concentrate, restless, useless. His half-abandoned bar nook caught his eye and he went to pour himself a drink to settle his nerves.

Tony had forgotten, somehow, how well a glass fit into his hand. Like coming home, really.

With whiskey for balance, he found his centre and went to work.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a scene in this chapter, where Lila shows young Rhodey footage of his fall in the CW. The scene and the language used might be be triggering in context of police brutality videos. Please proceed with caution.

Jim was starting to regret leaving the Tower almost as soon as the car pulled out of the garage.

If he’d never left the fancy penthouse, he could’ve gone on pretending that all of this was really a hoax, and Stark was an evil James Bond scientist who’d killed Jim’s legs and made his mom older. It wasn’t any more crazy than the story about him being an adult time traveller, and it would’ve made him feel much better. Maybe it wouldn’t have made any real difference, but in retrospect, he had felt a lot less helpless as hostage.

He couldn’t plan an escape from the future.

Jim had been briefly distracted by New York (he’d never been) and the cars on the freeway ( _all_ of them were fancy), but when Philly’s skyline came into view, he was starting to feel apprehensive again. At first, he was worried that all of his friends would stare at his wheelchair and leave him behind, but then he realised that even Joe wouldn’t want to play with him anymore, because he’d be a grown man now.

It got worse when they got home.

It wasn’t about the house. He’d been relieved that the house looked much the same, except that somebody had put up a ramp over the stairs.

Jim supposed that the ramp was for him, even through he didn’t think he could manage to get all the way up there on his own yet. He’d eat his own head before admitting it though. It was just that it’d take some getting used to, using his hands to move, and it didn’t help that he kept throwing himself off balance by trying to move his feet to the non-existent pedals. It was _stupid_ – the wheelchair didn’t even feel anything like a pedal car, so he didn’t understand why his mind kept going there.

But no, the house was perfectly fine.

It was the strange woman who opened the door that Jim had trouble with.

She made him briefly wonder if they’d come to the wrong address, somehow, and he’d have preferred it if they had.

Mom getting old was bad enough, but at least he’d recognised her. Jeanette though – his two-year-old baby sister who shrieked for Elmo every time he opened the TV – Jeanette was all grown up, older than mom should have been, and a complete stranger. Jim missed the annoying toddler that smeared sticky stuff all over his things and he was _furious_ with the future version of her. He couldn’t get rid of the horrible feeling that his sister was dead, and _she_ was to blame.

Jim would’ve traded every single fancy car and holo-screen and smart phone into un-seeing Jeanette.

Even her _child_ was older than him.

Lila seemed pretty cool, though, if he managed to forget that he was supposed to be her uncle. Too bad, that she seemed to insist on not helping with that at all.

“Baby uncle Jim!” she yelled through his door while banging on it for good measure. “I’m coming in!”

“I didn’t say you could,” Jim snapped. “And some people _ask_.”

“I would’ve asked, but you’d’ve said no,” Lila said, as if that wasn’t the whole _point_ of asking. “I came to cheer you up!”

She plopped onto Jim’s beanbag and looked at him expectantly.

“I didn’t say you could sit there, that’s _mine_.”

So what, if he was being rude. He hadn’t invited her and the beanbag really was _his_. The orange was a little faded, but it was the same one he’d sat in reading just this morning, before the world went crazy. It was the one thing he recognised in his boring adult self’s room.

“Wow,” Lila said and very decidedly didn’t move. “See why I thought you needed cheering up?”

“Well, what if I don’t _want_ to be cheered up?” Jim complained. “Also, I don’t need cheering up.”

“Sure you don’t.”

The flippant grin dropped off Lila’s face and she lowered her voice.

“Mom does, though, and Grandma. Your mom. They don’t want me to worry, but they were really shocked after your accident, adult uncle Jim’s, I mean, it was terrifying, and now? Now this happens right after, and you shut yourself in here for _hours_ – don’t you ever need to pee? – and I’m really worried about what this does to Grandma’s blood pressure. So, will you _please_ stop hiding in here and at least pretend to let me cheer you up and give them one less thing to stress about?”

Oh. Jim hadn’t thought about that.

“One condition,” he said.

“Shoot.”

“You said… you said I had and accident,” Jim gestured vaguely around his legs. “I wanted to ask mom, but… you know. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Shit, you don’t know,” Lila cursed and jumped to her feet like she had springs. “I can show you a video, if you want, hang on.”

“There's video of it?”

“Sure, there’s video of almost everything these days,” Lila hesitated. Her fingers stilled on the screen of her smart phone. “It’s really hard to watch. _I_ had nightmares, you’re probably too young. I could just tell you.”

“I want to see it,” Jim said, more confidently than he felt.

“Okay, backstory. You’re a superhero called the War Machine and part of a team called the Avengers. You pilot a really cool suit of armour. Oh, and you’re also an Air Force Colonel, fyi. Anyway, the team screwed up big time once too many and broke into infighting over how to handle it. It was stupid. The politics of it are pretty murky and serious, though. You caught friendly fire over Germany.”

Lila handed him her phone with a video she’d fast forwarded about three quarters through. She tapped the screen and the video started playing.

“That’s you in the grey armour.”

Jim had just enough time to be amazed that there were actual suits of armour that were flying, and a guy with wings too. Then a blinding beam of light carved through the air and hit the grey armour. It – _him_ – started to fall. From a really high up.

He wasn’t sure if it was the cameraman’s hands that were shaking or his own. When he watched himself hit the ground, he could’ve sworn he felt the shockwave through the screen, and he jerked so violently he dropped the phone. It landed straight on a dumbbell that had been left on the floor. The screen cracked, but the video didn’t stop playing.

Jim didn’t want to watch anymore.

Lila didn’t yell at him for breaking her phone. She hadn’t even watched the video, but her face was still all grey, like she was about to faint or be sick. Jim supposed he looked much the same himself. He certainly felt like it.

“That showed up on my feed before we got the call or it hit the news,” she said, sounding like she was about to cry. “I thought I was watching my uncle die between an iPhone-ad and a make-up tutorial.”

Jim reached for her hand. He didn’t know what else to do.

Lila responded with a very long hug, which would’ve been awkward a few minutes ago. Now he was just glad for it.

“So, cheering up?” Jim said finally, trying to come up with something that might make her feel better. “What were you thinking?”

“Mom said you’re from -78,” Lila said with a wet little smile. “Three guesses how many Star Wars movies there are in 2016?”

*

They were so screwed.

That was Tony’s extremely educated, professional opinion, and he had proof to back it up.

It was small comfort that he’d learned a lot about these… conveniently colour-coded things of power in the last few days. Everything he learned just added to his terror about what they might be facing in the future. Forget armies, the Avengers had scraped up a victory by the skin of their teeth when facing the Tesseract and the Sceptre separately, and now it looked like it would be possible to _combine_ them. If some conquering asshole ever figured that out, they’d be doomed.

Usually speaking with Jane Foster was a delight, but this time, she’d only added on his pile of worries. Evidently, there was a chance that the green light was actually hiding _inside_ Rhodey, since that’s what had happened to her when she’d touched the Aether. She’d also said that it had felt extremely foreign and been a rapidly progressing terminal condition, which, _fun_. It did speak in favour of Rhodey not being… infested… if he was still feeling fine. But on the other hand, there was a pretty damn visible effect of _some_ fuckery, and nothing said that _this_ power leeching into a human would manifest similarly to the Aether.

So.

Screwed.

Tony ran tests on the blood he scraped off his floor – he knew there was a reason he hadn’t gotten that cleaned up – which came back negative for foreign substances. Emphasis on the ‘foreign’. Of course there were no guarantees that the Green would show up on blood tests, especially since the blood was days old, but at least it wasn’t showing Bruce-levels of holy-shit-not-right.

Damn Bruce for not being here to deal with the organics. Also, the next time Thor showed up, Tony’d make him build a Bat-signal for emergencies. He could’ve really used Asgardian insight with this.

At least Jane had promised to share her notes on the Aether, and she’d even agreed to take some time off her own projects to look at Tony’s data. He’d be eternally grateful for that. He might’ve started planning a shrine.

There was no helping it. He’d have to ask Vision to check whether Rhodey had a supernatural parasite.

Mrs. Rhodes was going to be _pissed_.

She had already told him in excruciating detail what she thought of having Vision on security detail, even though he’d housed him in an Airbnb that wasn’t even on their street. _And_ given him strict orders to keep his distance unless otherwise instructed. It’s not like Tony didn’t _get_ it, either, he just wasn’t exactly drowning in options right now, and there was still a chance that this had been a targeted attack. Or, apparently, a chance that the villain was still present and living inside Rhodey.

Yeah, she was never going to speak to him again.

*

Jim hadn’t noticed anything at first. In his defence, he’d been a bit preoccupied – _holy shit_ there was a lot of Star Wars – but after a few days it had started to feel a bit weird that mom didn’t mind him watching that much TV. If you didn’t count their tiny backyard, he’d only been outside once since coming back home, and that had _definitely_ been weird.

Usually Jeanette avoided Jim a lot – he figured she might’ve _known_ that he refused to like her even a little – but yesterday she’d insisted that he come with her to the corner store. They’d accidentally ran into a chalk-pale Englishman on the way, and if it had really been an accident, Jim would eat his entire wheelchair.

He was fairly sure that he wasn’t being hidden from FBI agents who wanted to arrest him for… being an Air Force Colonel Superhero struck down by a magical curse or alien technology. Mostly because they sure as hell weren’t supposed to know anything about it _or_ him. But all the spy movie stuff made him feel a bit paranoid.

Jim heard a knock on the door and tensed up.

A bit paranoid, sure enough.

Mom didn’t look all too relaxed either, but she was making a fairly decent show of nothing being wrong. She opened the door about a quarter way through and asked what the stranger’s business was with a cheerful smile on her face.

“Mrs. Rhodes, may I come in?” the stranger asked. “I’m a friend of your son’s.”

“Anyone could say that,” mom said, her friendliness dropping several notches. “And my son isn’t home.”

“I think he is. Vision told us that he got turned into a child and that he wanted to come home.”

Mom pretty much yanked the stranger inside, slammed the door shut and slammed him against the door immediately after.

“Now, what the hell do you think you’re playing at, whoever you are-“

Any other day Jim would’ve been beside himself, because his _mom_ said a _swear_ , but now he kept quiet and wheeled carefully closer to the door, preparing to defend her however he could, if the stranger turned violent.

The man who claimed to be his friend could’ve been anyone in their neighbourhood, but Jim had never seen him before. (Of course that didn’t mean much, these days.) He was average-looking with grey hair and beard and he was much, much taller than mom.

“I’m really sorry about the secrecy, and all the rest too, Mrs. Rhodes,” the stranger said and moved his hand to his face very slowly. “But it’s not like there’s a template for this kind of stuff and I couldn’t think of a better way of breaking the news than just… ripping the band-aid off. Probably should’ve. If the spies hear of this, I’ll never live it down. But the thing is, I’m currently a fugitive and didn’t want all the cops in the country on my tail, or storming in your home.”

The stranger removed… _something_ … from his face and his features rippled and changed like in a sci-fi movie. In place of a man close to his mom’s age stood a much younger man with sharper features and a different beard.

“My name is Sam Wilson,” the stranger said. “We haven’t met, but your son’s told me a lot about you. You probably know me as the Falcon.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jim had been a little concerned about his adult self’s taste in company, because everyone agreed that he and Stark were friends, and that guy was really obviously a Bond villain. Sure, he had amazing tech, but which Bond villain didn’t?

Apparently, he needn’t have worried so much.

Sam was his friend too, and he was the coolest person Jim had ever met in his entire life!

Sam was a _superhero_ and on the run from the government! He had wings! He could fly! That alone made him automatically cool, but it wasn’t the only awesome thing about him. He also sat next to Jim and watched space movies with him and didn’t get bored _nearly_ as fast as Lila did. He helped Jim build the little electrical and computer things that mom bought him. Sam didn’t even mind that as soon as Jim got the hang of it, he was a lot better at it than he was. There was also a little gap between Sam’s teeth that showed when he smiled and made him look extra friendly, and Sam smiled at Jim a _lot_.

Also, he seemed to really appreciate Jim’s Bond villain theory.

“Man, I’m never forgetting this,” Sam laughed with tears in his eyes. “Between us, I’m not saying you’re right, but I’m definitely not saying you’re _not_ right, either.”

“You think so too?”

“Maybe just a little.”

Jim was pretty sure Sam was the guy with wings on the video he felt cold thinking about. He wasn’t _completely_ sure though, because there could easily be two sets of wings or more. There had been two armours on that clip and on a lot of others too – Jim had really liked the red one until he’d watched more videos and seen who was inside. Then he’d decided he didn’t much care for it, after all. (Wasn’t it _enough_ that there was so much footage of him and Stark together? Did they have to have matching superhero armours too?! The future was clearly working overtime rubbing it in.)

“Was it his fault I fell?” Jim asked hesitantly. “In the fight?”

Sam flinched and froze up.

“You _saw_ that?”

“Lila showed me. I watched some other stuff on my own. It’s not hard to find.”

“Shit, no it wasn’t- fuck, I shouldn’t- shouldn’t curse so much in front of children, probably,” Sam rambled. “No, you- The whole thing was a clusterfuck with too much going on at once. You were trying to catch me. Vision hit you instead of me. We couldn’t reach you in time. I’m so sorry.”

Jim stared had him, shocked. He’d known that Sam was on the run from the government. He hadn’t known that _he_ was one of the goons trying to hunt him down.

“Why?!” he almost felt like crying. “Why would I side with the feds? Against _you_?”

“I don’t know, kid. I know you thought it was the right thing to do, but I just don’t _know_.”

Sam was easily the best thing about the future. Even better than computers.

Jim wished he could have said the same about himself.

*

“God _dammit_!” Tony screamed and threw his helmet against the workshop wall.

The wall was reinforced concrete and the helmet titanium alloy, so nothing was damaged except the paint job.

It was utterly unsatisfactory in every possible way.

The helmet stared at him with empty eyes from scraped golden face and Tony considered blasting it straight to hell to give it something to stare about. He changed his mind on the last second and went to take a drink to settle his nerves, then another to steady his hands. He could do fuck-all with shaking hands.

Two weeks.

Two fucking weeks and now, a final dead end.

He really had no clue what to do now.

Tony had followed every tiny trace of Green on the New York sky, found a way to locate the tiniest residue of its signature radiation, spent so much time flying above Manhattan he was starting to catch flack for an overdone PR-stunt… and all he had to show for his troubles was a big, fat load of nothing.

All roads lead to Bleecker Street and that’s where they vanished too. Completely.

Much too completely.

Tony’s leading theory was that somebody or something was lurking just outside the measurable reality – perhaps using Green’s time travel powers to hide from him – but he had no way to follow them there. He'd circled the place for a while, set up surveillance, and gone back home.

With no viable plan of action in sight and no stone left to turn.

“FRIDAY, what have I missed?”

“Nothing, boss.”

“Don’t give me ‘nothing’, there has to be something!” Tony’s voice cracked. “There _has_ to be! Some other angle, anything! What haven’t I tried yet?”

“You haven’t tried watching your memory of the green light zero-hour event again.”

Tony froze. That wasn’t strictly speaking what BARF was for, but right now, he was ready to try anything.

“Find an empty room and fire it up.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY said reproachfully. “You haven’t tried it, because recreating your memory of the event is unlikely to be useful. In addition, the safety protocols very clearly specify 0 % blood alcohol content.”

“Overruled,” Tony said and poured himself another glass, just for emphasis.

It’s not like he was going to sue himself for damages.

“You’re a pain in the ass, boss.”

Huh.

You know what, he actually was. Some might even say – some _had_ said, many, many times – that he’d made a career out of being a pain in the ass. And while he might not have been able to find the person controlling Green, exactly, he knew with pinpoint accuracy _where_ they were.

A dedicated asshole could do a lot with just a location.

“Fry, put the BARF on screensaver for a bit, I’m taking a detour back to Bleecker Street. I’m gonna go metaphorically egg a theoretical house.”

*

“I don’t _want_ to watch TV!” Jim screamed at mom as hard as he could. “I want to _walk upstairs_ and stay in my _own_ _room_ , I _hate_ this one!”

Mom looked tired and sad, but she wasn’t getting angry. Jim hated that she wasn’t angry. She had no right to be that calm, when there was rage bubbling right under his skin. He was hurting so _bad_ and he wanted someone else to hurt too.

“James R-“

“Don’t _James_ me, you aren’t my _real_ mom!” Jim shouted the worst thing he could think of. “My mama isn’t _old_!”

Mom looked like he’d just hit her, and he felt like it too. He wasn’t sorry, though. He wasn’t!

Jim wheeled through the living room as fast as he could. He knocked some things over and didn’t stop to pick them up. Why should he care about anyone’s stuff, when no one cared about what he wanted?

He slammed his stupid adult self’s stupid door shut and wedged some of his stupidly heavy dumbbells against the door so no one could open it.

He immediately regretted coming here.

There was no other door. There was no way to sneak out without everyone seeing, so he had to stay trapped here, unless he wanted to go out and face mom again. Jim should’ve gone outside and ran away, at least for a bit. Then everyone would’ve worried and come looking for him.

Or maybe they wouldn’t have. Maybe they would’ve let him stay gone.

He could hear mom crying even through the door.

Nobody came looking for boys that made their moms cry.

Future had been fun, when it had been computers and tablets and TV and new food he could try before going back to normal and seeing all his friends again. Now future was just forever and he had no one.

Especially not after yelling at his mom. Even Lila wouldn’t want to be his friend after this.

Jim threw himself on his bed and cried until all he had left was a headache and a lead weight in his stomach.

“Hey kid? Want to have a word?”

Jim startled awake from his stupor. He glanced at his door; still closed. He’d forgotten that he’d cracked his window open though, and now Sam was waiting outside it.

Even heavier weight dropped into his stomach. Sam wasn’t smiling at him now.

“My door’s closed?” Jim tried.

“No problem. It’s a big window.”

Sam did something probably a bit burglarish with the window locks and got it to swing open all the way. All Jim had on his desk were a couple of drawings, so there was nothing to stop Sam from leaning in. Maybe that’s why people kept plants on their desks.

“Can I come in? This is a bit awkward,” Sam asked, though he didn’t look awkward. “Or you could come out? I could lift you through the window.”

“Out,” Jim said and pulled himself from his bed to his desk. It was good they were almost on level. “Please.”

Sam picked him up like he weighed nothing. Maybe he shouldn’t have liked it, but he did – it almost felt like a hug and there probably weren’t going to be a lot of those in his future, after everyone heard what he’d done.

“Better leave the wheelchair inside,” Sam said as he sat Jim down on their ancient lawn chair. “I’m not sure, if it’d fit through, and I’d rather not find out whether or not I can learn to fix a broken window frame.”

Jim didn’t say anything. He’d been in trouble enough of times that he recognised a deceptively friendly preamble to a scolding.

“So? What’s up?”

That didn’t sound like a scolding. Maybe they used a different script in the future.

“I’m never going back home,” Jim said quietly. “Stark showed up to talk to mom. I was listening in. I don’t think they noticed. He says he doesn’t know how to reverse the green light and he can’t find the thing that did it.”

“Shit,” Sam swore. “He’s giving up?”

“No. He said he’s _never_ giving up. But that’s what it means, doesn’t it? I’m stuck here forever.”

“Shit.”

What more was there left to say.

A lot, apparently.

“Look,” Sam started, looking for words. “Believe it or not, but I actually have a friend who’s in a similar situation. Sort of a time traveller from the past. It was hard for him, at first, but he’s doing better now.”

“Really?”

“Really. Is there…” Sam hesitated. “Is there anything… Can you think of anything you like about 2016?”

“Lots,” Jim said, a little confused. “The air smells better. There’s computers everywhere. There’s _superheroes_. Lila is nice. What does it matter, though?”

“It helped my friend with all the hard stuff, seeing something good in the future.”

Right, Sam was a shrink, he’d forgotten.

“Don’t be sad?” Jim asked sceptically. “That’s the secret?”

“No, that’d be a super crappy thing to say,” Sam twisted his nose like ‘don’t be sad’ smelled bad. “Which is why I didn’t say it. I said it helps if you remember there are good things too.”

“That doesn’t fix anything.”

Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded like ‘engineer’. Jim wasn’t sure though.

“Let’s try this from another angle,” Sam said. “Is there anything you’d like to do here that you haven’t tried yet?”

Jim thought about it.

He wanted a lot of things, but he couldn’t say any of the stuff he’d just screamed at his mom. The thought made his stomach curdle. He wanted to say sorry to mom, and he wanted her to say that it was okay and hug him. He wanted to fly, but Sam would get in big trouble, if someone saw his wings.

“I want to play sports,” Jim said finally. “I’ve been doing nothing except watch TV and play with computers and read books and stuff for _weeks_. I want to actually _do_ something.”

“Now we’re talking,” Sam grinned at him. “You play basketball? Some guys I know set up a wheelchair team, they kick my ass on the regular, or used to. I could ask them for some pointers.”

“Promise?”

That sounded nice. Not as nice as going home, but really nice anyway. Especially, if Sam would play with him.

“Promise.” Sam said solemnly.

*

Tony settled to a new daily routine.

Half of the day he spent combing through a sea of data, trying to see what he’d missed, trying to crack it from a new angle. Other half he spent in BARF, analysing the blasted scene that had plunged them into this mess. And every couple of hours, he flew to Bleecker Street and attacked Green’s security systems.

He wasn’t really expecting to break through them. He just needed to ring the doorbell until someone showed up to yell at him to get off their lawn.

He didn’t sleep much, but he had practise with that.

He passed out occasionally, but he had practise with that too.

It was regrettable, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to drink. Alcohol mitigated the side-effects of exceeding BARF’s time limits by… way too much, honestly.

Even whiskey couldn’t work miracles though.

It was getting harder to keep his memories from bleeding into each other.

He wasn’t sure when it started, but he _noticed_ it when his parents’ car hit a tree in his living room and baby Rhodey threatened the Winter Soldier with a broken bottle.

The sight nearly stopped his heart.

“I see someone is in dire need of a medical professional,” a voice spoke to his left. “I can refer you to a competent psychiatrist.”

Tony whirled around. He banished the memory, but a slightly see-through mirage of a man wearing a wizard costume didn’t vanish.

“Who the fuck are you and how are you doing that?”

“I might have asked the same of you,” the wizard said coolly. “Except that I know you, Tony Stark. What I want to know is _why_ do you insist on harassing me on my own property.”

Oh. That was the guy. Tony wasn't sure what he’d expected, but not a cloak, that’s for sure.

“You happen to have a green thing that can mess with time?” Tony asked venomously, his temper fraying in record time.

“I am the Keeper of the Time Stone, yes.”

“Super. It’s time for your performance appraisal. I’ve got some notes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheelchair basketball was my artist brokenEisenglas' idea, one that I absolutely loved and had to include in the fic.  
>  ~~Since I'm experiencing embedding difficulties, you can see art of it here:~~ I figured out the embedding, you can see the art at the end of ch 8 or go through the link here:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24936238/chapters/60353590#workskin


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost all warnings for violence and various bodily fluids are specifically due to this chapter. Please proceed with caution.

If Tony were smart, he would’ve gone the fuck to sleep after sending the wizard on his way. Instead he fired BARF up again, did his best to ignore his parents’ murder, and focused on the kid staring him down with familiar fire in his eyes.

“It’s going to be all fixed soon,” Tony said. “Like I promised.”

“ _You_ didn’t fix anything,” baby Rhodey spat. “You just got _lucky_.”

Tony sighed.

True, but…

“The point is, it’s going to be all right.”

“No thanks to _you_.”

“Could you maybe cut me some slack?” Tony almost pleaded. “We’re friends, you know.”

“You so sure about that?” baby Rhodey sneered and flickered into an adult. “You _really_ so sure about that?”

Tony flinched and his vision went dark for a bit. Yes, he was sure. He was sure, he was sure, he was sure. Wasn’t he? But then, he had been sure before.

His muscles seized up. He couldn’t move, couldn’t answer the phone.

_Breathe._

“You like me,” Tony gasped, struggling to keep his head above the water. “Please, like me?”

“Make me,” Rhodey said in all his voices, all his ages. “Make me.”

He could.

He just had to imagine it and make it real.

Tony recoiled and stumbled back, away from the thought, so far away that Rhodey disappeared completely, and so did the penthouse.

Dark December road remained.

He might as well. This was what BARF was really for, after all.

Unresolved business.

His parents’ car crashed into a tree and the Winter Soldier stalked towards it.

“Record scenario December 17th, running number 1.”

*

It wouldn’t change.

No matter what he did, no matter what kind of a scenario he constructed, his fantasy of a different outcome always dissolved into a hand around his mom’s throat.

He couldn’t stop trying though.

The motorcycle spun out of control. Mom got out of the car and ran. The Winter Soldier had been given different orders.

And yet, every time, every time, every time-

He could make it a drinking game, perhaps. _Take a shot every time your mother dies_.

(He does. Enthusiastically.)

A hand closes around Maria Stark’s throat and her son’s hand chokes the neck of a bottle.

(Who’s mimicking who?)

Maybe it won’t change, because he doesn’t _want_ it to change.

Or maybe he still knows what he knew before, that changing it doesn’t make any goddamn difference. Only this time, it doesn’t taste like acceptance and healing.

It tastes like it did for years and years and years, like his very old friend Johnny Walker.

He tries again.

*

Tony finds himself on the floor and he doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the blinding BARF-headache that has him retching. It’s been a while since he’s thrown up like this; nothing but alcohol and not a clue of the time or the day.

“Record scenario December 17th, running number… fuck it.”

He doesn’t know how many times he’s done this, and he’s beyond caring about filing the recordings correctly.

The car crashes into the tree, the assassin stalks towards it, and Iron Man drops from the sky to stop him, repulsors primed and ready to kill.

Tony throws up again and Iron Man glitches, pukes and ceases to be while Bucky Barnes bashes his father’s face in and chokes the life out of his mom.

There are speckles of vomit on his BARF-specs. How very poetic.

“Run scenario.”

He doesn’t bother trying to change it this time. He just watches it happen, once again, and fumbles for a bottle just out of his reach. It’s tipped over and almost empty, but only _almost_ , and every little bit helps.

He claws the bottle to himself and upends it to his mouth lying down while his mom dies somewhere out of sight.

Soon after, a gunshot signals the end.

*

“Goddamn you, he knows you! You know him! Just _don’t_ -“

Barnes ignores his hoarse screams as he stalks towards Howard Stark.

Tony isn’t sure what he wants, exactly, or why he’s still doing this or why he ever even started, but he _needs_ it to be over, God, it _hurts_ , he can’t see straight, can’t think, he’ll do anything for it to just _-_

“Stop!”

Metal fist crushes his father’s face and his limp corpse collapses next to the car.

Tony tastes blood like he’d been the one to take those blows. It takes him a while to realise that the blood is real – his nose is bleeding all over his face, that can’t be good – and Barnes uses that time to wrap his fingers around his mom’s throat.

“ _Please_ stop.”

He isn’t above begging, if there’s a chance it might save her life.

(There isn’t. There never was.)

He sees it happen again through his filthy glasses and a haze of red; blood and fury like he’s never felt before, not even in a Siberian bunker not so long ago.

“ _Stop!_ ” his voice is a snarl, this time. “I’ll fucking _make_ you let her go!”

The thought takes hold and his rage coalesces into something else.

He could.

He could actually do it.

He could make him stop.

_“Longing.”_

The Winter Soldier stills.

Tony spits out the words he had heard Zemo gleefully shout in his interrogation for the entire room to hear, no doubt hoping that something exactly like this would happen.

Tony doesn’t care.

Final word, and Barnes turns towards him.

_“Ready to comply.”_

“Let. Her. Go.”

Barnes does as he’s told, for all the good that it does.

Maria Stark is already dead.

He was supposed to save her, but he was too late and now he doesn’t know what to do with Barnes, or himself for that matter.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Tony says desperately. “You _didn’t_.”

“It was my mission.”

“ ** _Fuck your mission!_** Were you also _ordered_ to kill her like _that_?”

“No. She was not important. Method of elimination was inconsequential and not specified.”

Tony laughs.

She died alone and afraid, slowly, in pain, and it was _inconsequential_.

In a terrible way, he appreciates the honesty.

Tony tries to stand up, but even getting halfway there is a struggle. His hands slip on a puddle of alcohol, vomit and blood – fuck, there might be piss in there too – and he falls on his face more than once before he finally manages to push himself slightly more upright.

He finds himself on his knees in front of Barnes and his rage nearly blinds him. He hates it, hates himself for ending up like this, hates _him_ most of all for just standing there, looking down on him with a neutral expression on his face.

God, he wants to _hurt_ that son of a bitch.

“Here’s a _mission_ for you,” Tony hisses through clenched teeth. “ _Kill yourself_.”

Barnes pulls a gun.

“Not like that,” Tony spits. “You do it like you killed her. You make it _slow_.”

Barnes obeys. He brings his flesh hand to his throat and starts to choke himself.

Tony isn’t sure if he’s surprised to see that. He watches, with hunger, horror, glee, he doesn’t know. He watches as Barnes begins to sway and finally falls – and immediately starts breathing again. He’s conscious and getting back on his feet in a minute.

“Again,” he says, and Barnes does as he’s told.

“Again.”

“Again.”

_“Again.”_

Tony can’t keep track of how many times he makes Barnes kill himself. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t try to change anything now, so it’s always the same. Barnes chokes himself, falls, gets back up again. And again. And again.

At some point he loses the vicious pleasure that seeing Barnes die gave him at first, and the pit of horror and disgust inside him dries up as well. He doesn’t even feel the pain anymore. He doesn’t know what he wants. He is empty, hollow, emotionless, and he can’t stop watching. Again. Again. Again.

“Request permission to change the method of execution?” Barnes asks. It’s the first time he makes a sound since this began. “A human cannot kill himself by choking with a bare hand. Request permission to break the larynx or use the other hand.”

_“Again!”_

Eventually, something has to crack. Eventually, something does.

“Fight back, asshole!” Tony screams. “ _Fight back!”_

His vision blurs, his face is wet. He doesn’t understand why.

Oh. He’s crying.

“Why won’t you fight back?! I _know_ you can! You did it for _him!_ ” Tony gestures somewhere behind him, and suddenly Cap is there, standing in the shadows.

Maybe he’d always been there.

“There’s your _mission_ that you _ignored_ , so don’t fucking act like you _can’t_ , you fucking _fight back,_ you piece of shit!”

Barnes looks at him, impassive. His hand stays where it is. On his own throat, squeezing.

This is what Tony’d wanted.

Revenge.

Proof of guilt.

This is what he never wanted.

“Stop,” Tony gasps around the clumps of blood clotting in his nose and throat. “Stop, just… stop.”

Barnes wasn’t ever going to save himself.

“Get out. I can’t… you… Go! Just go! You get the _fuck_ out of here!”

Tony collapses back on the floor and he doesn’t have the strength to even try to get up anymore. When he can get his eyes to focus again, Barnes has disappeared, but Cap is still there, half-hidden in the shadows.

It’s fitting. This is how they last saw each other, more or less.

“Why?”

There’s so many things Tony wants to ask him, but that’s what all of them boil down to.

_Why?_

“He’s my friend,” Cap answers simply, just like he did before.

Tony laughs, gags, chokes, and keeps laughing.

It looks like there’s no changing this, either.

“So was I.”

“Were you?” Caps says coldly. “You turned on your own team. You violated my privacy. You _tortured_ Bucky to make yourself feel better. If that’s what you call friendship, what the _hell_ makes you think I’d want anything to do with it. Or you.”

“It wasn’t real.” It’s the only defence Tony can think of. “He killed my mom.”

“Real enough.” Cap’s voice has no mercy in it. “And how many have _you_ killed, without anyone forcing you to? You have _oceans_ of blood in your hands.”

Tony wasn’t lying on the floor anymore. It was a shifting, creaking bed of skulls. Some of them he recognised from bits of flesh and hair still clinging to the bone, but most he didn’t know and never would. Small wonder Cap didn’t want his friendship. He wouldn’t want it either.

“I’m sorry.”

What else was there to say?

“And what’s your ‘sorry’ worth, after all of this?”

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

It’s not like he didn’t know that.

“I tried,” Tony pleaded. “I _tried_ doing better. I’m still trying. I’ll never _stop_ trying. Doesn’t that count for anything for you?”

“Why do you need it to?” Cap asked instead of answering. “What do you want from me?”

“I want… I wanted you to _like_ me.”

His vision was blurry with tears and darkening around the edges. He was beyond the point of pride. He just _wanted_.

“I wanted… You said your faith’s in the people. Just not me.”

The memory of it burned.

“Couldn’t you have believed in me? Just a little? Just _once_? Couldn’t you have told me that? Couldn’t you have _lied_?”

“Quit your whining, boy,” Cap spoke, but the voice was Howard’s. “There’s nothing and nobody that respects a snivelling pansy. Is it any wonder you can’t get anyone to listen to you?”

That. That wasn’t right, that shouldn’t happen. What was dad doing here?

“I tried,” he says again. “I tried being what you wanted. Was it ever going to be enough?”

He doesn’t know who he’s talking to. It’s not like it matters. He doesn’t get an answer.

Cap’s face flickered into Howard’s and back again, erratic, unstable, until the roiling skulls twisted into an abyss and pulled Tony under.

*

He wakes up in agony, drenched in filth and oh God, the _stench_ , the stench of himself makes him retch, though there’s nothing left for him to bring up.

“Fry,” he rasps weakly. “Fry, I need help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about the skulls is from an Iron Man comic, but I can't remember which one. I'll edit the disclaimer, once I remember.


	8. Chapter 8

They watched Return of the Jedi again, although they’d seen it three times already this week alone. They watched it, because Jim liked it. No one had said as much. They hadn’t needed to. Jeanette had just put in on and no one had disagreed.

Jim _hated_ it.

He wouldn’t say anything about it though. He still felt trapped. Boredom and frustration were crawling under his skin like ants, but if he let them out through his mouth, if he _screamed_ that he didn’t want their _pity_ … Well, he might feel better for a while, but mom would look so _sad,_ and she might even go upstairs and _cry._ Again _._

Jim didn’t want to make her cry ever again. He didn’t even say anything, when the adults kept talking over the movie.

Mom and Jeanette’s casual conversation was cut very abruptly short by an orange circle of light appearing in the living room.

A white man in strange clothes stepped through the circle, and the brief, shocked silence was broken. Lila jumped in front of Jim, and Jeanette in front of them both. Mom grabbed a heavy vase, ready to throw, and Sam emerged from the kitchen with a gun in his hand.

The intruder didn’t look particularly intimidated by any of this.

“Please remain calm,” he said in an arrogant sort of voice. “I am Doctor Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme and the guardian of this realm of existence and reality. I have come to restore-“

“Most people use the door, _Doctor_ ,” mom hissed, lifting the vase threateningly. “Back off. Get out. _Now_. No sudden movements.”

“I have cleared this visit with your security. I assumed, not incorrectly I might add, that I would not be allowed in through the door, so I was merely saving everyone’s time by skipping that tedious prelude to entering through a portal,” the intruder said, and for all he was worth he looked like he thought he really _had_ been merely considerate, instead of an ass practically begging to get shot.

“What comes to ‘getting out’, I’m unfortunately unable to do so quite yet. You see, some time ago – though time is particularly relative in this case – I was engaged in a battle with a time demon, to use a vulgar colloquialism. Our battle was not entirely without collateral damage, though none of it irreversible. I have come to restore your son to normalcy.”

“We’re gonna need some proof, buddy. Before we have it, you take one step closer and I’ll shoot out your knees,” Sam threatened. “I don’t recommend trying.”

“Fortunately,” the intruder said impatiently. “I am as close as I need to be.”

He did something with his hands and his strange necklace, and Sam’s gunshot rang in the air as a blast of green light exploded out of the pendant and filled the entire room. Jim shielded his eyes – too late, he was already blinded – and then he felt horrible constricting pain, before his clothes exploded at the seams.

The light faded and everyone was blinking owlishly, except for the wizard, who apparently was a genuine sorcerer and not a lunatic in a crazy Halloween costume. Sam had his gun still trained on him, though his bullet hadn’t had any visible effect.

“There was no need to shoot me,” the wizard complained. “There _remains_ no need to shoot me, in fact, so put those away, if you please.”

“That’s why we invented all these social niceties like knocking, you know,” Jeanette’s voice was very cold, and when she moved, Rhodey could see that she, too, was holding a gun. “Ever get complaints about your bedside manner, _Doctor_?”

“I was a surgeon. Therefore, my patients were unconscious and my bedside manner irrelevant. But, yes, I did,” the wizard said and actually managed to sound slightly apologetic. “My business has been concluded. I apologise for the inconvenience, and the delay. If you excuse me, I shall now take my leave and get this bullet out, before the spell wears off and it has time to do actual damage.”

Another orange circle appeared, and then the wizard was gone.

“I’m not sorry,” Sam yelled after him, just as the portal closed.

“Oh Lord, Jimmy!” mom choked out.

An eyeblink later Rhodey found his arms full of his mom. When the world slowly stopped moving like it was made out of glue and came back to its normal speed, he realised he was no longer a child. He’d… Fuck, he’d spent almost a month being ten, all because of a _goddamn_ magic snafu, apparently. He was also not wearing all that many clothes, since he’d exploded out of them.

Great.

“Mom,” Rhodey tried to protest, though in the name of honesty, he was hugging back just as tightly. “Mom, stop, I’m practically naked.”

“You were born naked, silly boy, what do I care,” mom said and kissed his forehead, cheeks.

“Do the rest of us get a vote,” Jeanette asked with her head in her hands. At least she’d put the gun away beforehand.

Oh God, Jeanette. He’d been an _asshole_ to her. He had so much making up to do.

And _Lila_ , shit, the poor, poor kid, he needed to have a long conversation with her about trying to carry all the family’s worries.

He had more pressing problems to take care of first, though. Thank fuck he’d been sitting on the sofa.

“Guys, could somebody bring me a pair of pants? Maybe a shirt, if you’re feeling generous? Also does anyone know where my actual wheelchair is? I think I might’ve outgrown that one. Just a bit.”

*

Mom, Jeanette and Lila had _all_ decided to drive north to get his spare wheelchair from the Compound. Rhodey suspected that after they’d made sure that he actually was back to being an adult, they needed some space to come to terms with everything. He couldn’t fault them with that, though he'd put his foot down about any of them driving. Everyone seemed to be in a varying state of shock and in no fit state; they could damn well take a taxi. Or a Happy, as it turned out. Rhodey wasn’t sure if he had Tony or Pepper to thank for him _coincidentally_ turning up in Philadelphia, they were both terminal micromanaging busybodies. Not that he minded terribly.

He appreciated getting some time alone to catch up with Sam. There was a _lot_ of catching up to do.

”How’s everybody doing?”

”Well enough, considering,” Sam said with a sigh. “Wanda’s doing a lot better than in the Compound, actually, I think the fugitive life suits her.”

“That’s probably not good in the long run, you know.”

“Definitely not, but I’ll take what I can get. Clint’s a mess and Scott isn’t much better.”

“Scott?”

“Tic-tac. The Ant-Man. Or, you know, the giant from the airport.”

“So, the tiny dude is called Scott. Good to know. Natasha?”

“Isn’t with us. Don’t know where she is, doubt we’ll find out unless she wants us to, either. Of course, she might decide to come back to the Compound as well.”

“No, she won’t.”

“No, she probably won’t, yeah.”

Both of them were quiet for a while.

“You aren’t talking about Cap, so I’m guessing he’s not doing too good.”

Sam rubbed his hand over his face.

“He’s… Well. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s acting like a teenager who can’t quite figure out if he ran away from home or if daddy kicked him out. He’s _this_ close to reinventing grunge.”

“For real?”

“He tried dyeing his suit black. About 30% of the colour took. It’ll probably be really funny in ten years or so.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Sam, the way I’m seeing it, it’s really funny _now_.”

“I dunno, man. If it was literally anyone else we’re talking about this’d sound stupid, a guy of his age, but it’s Cap, so… I think whatever went down with Stark was at least partially Cap’s fault, and now he’s trying to cope with doing something he knew was wrong for literally the first time in his entire life. It’s not going great.”

“So you don’t know what happened either?”

“No. But if Stark’d just eaten his word and gone to Siberia to kick Steve’s teeth in, he’d be angry – well, angrier – without the whole kicked dog routine. You don’t know either?”

“I know that Cap needs an editor for his apology letters, if he doesn’t want to start another war. Other than that, very little.”

“You read the letter? Didn’t peg you as the type to read other people’s mail.”

“Tony left it on a desk in clear view, of course I read it. If he didn’t want me to, he’d have made sure I never saw it. This way, I know something about what went down without him having to talk about it.“

“Healthy.”

“Believe me, it’s an improvement. Anyway, I know enough to know it’s _bad_. It’s got something to with his parents, somehow, and that means it isn’t likely to get better any day soon. I figured it was safe to tell him what I _really_ thought about Howard back in -96 and Tony didn’t talk to me for almost a year.”

“Oh joy, a foreseeable future full of negative-star motels,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Still better than the government-issued lodgings though.”

“I’m so sorry about the Raft, Sam. It _never_ should have happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t have. Happened anyway. Like we said it would.”

“Sam-“

“I’m going out,” Sam said curtly.

He got up and walked away, leaving Rhodey sitting on the sofa with no way to follow.

*

Sam was gone for over an hour.

He came back with a bag of nuts and a pained look in his eyes.

“Sorry. That was a dick move.”

Rhodey didn’t dispute that. But neither was he going to say anything about it.

“You wanna talk about it or pretend it didn’t happen?” he asked instead.

“You back to thinking that it was the right thing to do, to, what was it, to _side with the feds_ against us?”

“Yeah,” Rhodey sighed, exhausted. “Yeah, it was.”

“Young you didn’t think so,” Sam all but sneered. “What changed?”

“The young me couldn’t even dream of the sort of firepower a fighter jet has, and a jet is nothing next to the armour,” Rhodey said. “That’s what changed. No offense, but you’re basically a pair of wings with a gun in hand-”

“You say ‘no offense’, but I’m hearing ‘fuck you’.”

“No, listen,” Rhodey insisted. “You haven’t ever even seen me pull all stops as the War Machine, the Ultron fight was more air acrobatics than anything. So I don’t think you realise just how different levels of power we’re talking about here.”

He glanced at Sam who, thankfully, didn’t look like he was about to throw the nuts in his face and walk away for good. Then he went back to staring at Lila’s aloe plant. It was easier to keep speaking like that.

“You can take down two, three, maybe four dozen people with your wings and guns,” Rhodey said finally. “In the armour, I could pull off a second Pearl Harbor all on my own, and then resupply, fly across the ocean and get started on Dresden point two before the day was out. So, no. I can’t look the entire world in the eye and tell them to suck my dick, when they say they’re scared of what I might decide to do. It sucks that we don’t have better options, but I can’t do that.”

“So you let Ross put you in a leash, and never mind what he tells you to do.”

“We can say no. Me and Tony at least. I was wrong about Ross, and believe me, I regret it.”

 _Regret_ was a mild word, he thought bitterly. When he screwed up, he screwed up big. He hadn’t made an error in judgement like Ross since trusting Obadiah Stane.

“I didn’t think I had any illusions left to lose and I don’t usually read people that wrong. I’ll never stop being sorry about that. But the point stands. We can say ‘no’ to him.”

“What, all the fancy talk about the Accords, and then you turn around and say you’re just gonna wipe your ass with them, if you don’t like what they tell you to do?”

Sam laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound.

“I’ll take ‘hypocrisy’ for three hundred. What’s even the point?”

“Politics,” Rhodey replied simply. “We have to play ball for long enough that people remember they hate Ross way more than they distrust us.”

“Now you sound like Stark.”

“Tony’s better at this than I am,“ Rhodey said, shaking his head. “Of course he’s got more room to manoeuvre due to who and what he is, but he’s also straight up better at pulling strings of power and he’s got a great instinct on who he has to be at any given time. You should’ve seen him and Natasha run circles around UN diplomats before the bombing. I like them both and it was still a scary fucking thing to witness.”

“Bond villain, huh.”

“Yeah, and I’m not even kidding. A whole platoon of PR-people explicitly forbade Tony from adding _Doctor_ to his moniker for that exact reason.”

“Now _there’s_ a vote of confidence if I ever heard one.” Sam rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Whatever reason could we have had, to not do as he told us to?”

“Point taken,” Rhodey admitted. “But tell me this. If it didn’t involve you or Cap or the team, if you didn’t know any of us personally… How would you feel, if someone like Tony looked the UN in the eye and told them _no, your laws can’t touch us_? How would that look?”

Sam was quiet for a long time.

“Where does this leave us?” he asked finally. “Because I’m not walking back to a jail cell in the name of misguided team effort _or_ begging for Ross’ permission to kiss his ass like a good boy.”

“Give us a little time,” Rhodey said. “Stay safe. All of you. You need anything? Like help getting out of the US?”

“Could always use some cash,” Sam grinned at him. “ _Redacted_ is on stand-by to get me out of the country.”

Judging by the smile, Rhodey guessed that that was a code for red, white, blue and blond.

“Don’t have a dime on me, all my money’s in my big boy pants in New York,” he grimaced. “I’ll pad Vision with unmarked bills the next time he has a _secret_ date with Wanda.”

“Deal,” Sam said and ruffled Rhodey’s hair. “I’d better get going. You were a damn cute kid, Rhodes. I meant what I said about basketball.”

“I’ll hold you on to that,” Rhodey laughed.

He meant it too.

It was good to have something to look forward to.


	9. Epilogue

Rhodey was back to normal. That was good to know.

He was going to take a few days with his family. That was also good to know.

It gave Tony some time to take a very, _very_ long shower and catch up on sleep. He’d forgotten how clearly he could think, when he wasn’t running on caffeine and alcohol, and his list of things he needed to think about was getting long.

Actually, the list should probably include a mention about how easy it had been to fall back into the bottle. It didn’t make it to the first page though. He hadn’t had a single drink in days, so he couldn't have that much of a problem. Moot point, honestly.

Tony wasn’t sure how valid _any_ of his BARF-delirium conclusions were but at least he had been able to put his vendetta against Barnes to rest. 

He’d had all the information on what they’d done to Barnes since he’d read the Red Room reports, of course, but before now he hadn’t allowed himself to actually, properly _know_ it. Tony mourned the loss of a tangible target for all of his anger, but there really was no point in hating the poor bastard.

It was surprisingly easy, letting go.

Cap was more of a problem.

And water was wet.

Tony had skimmed through his creeper-footage with fresh eyes, and this time, he'd paid special attention to how similarly Cap acted around him and Fury.

Maybe it went both ways.

After all, until he'd hallucinated it, Tony had never realised how many of his issues with Howard he’d straight-up projected onto Cap. Maybe Cap, in turn, had an unresolved need for a director he could butt heads with and had picked Tony for Fury’s stand-in.

If so... Holy fuck, but they were pathetic. His therapist would laugh herself all the way to a stroke.

“Tones, you up here?” Rhodey called from the elevator.

Tony blinked.

“I thought you said you were going to take a couple of days,” he said, surprised to see him.

“I did. A couple of days have since passed. You look like shit, by the way.”

Tony glanced at himself. He was clean and he had clothes on. He wouldn’t let anyone photograph him without professional make-up in a month, but he still felt like Rhodey was being a bit harsh.

“Nope. I looked like shit a few days ago. Now I’m a picture of health.”

“The sad thing is, I believe you,” Rhodey said and parked his wheelchair next to Tony. “Rough month?”

Tony hesitated.

It’s not like he didn’t know that he himself had created the things that he’d seen in BARF. They weren’t real. But still…

“We’re friends, right?” he asked, aiming for nonchalant and landing on timid. “It’s okay, if you say we aren’t. You can tell me, if you think I’m an asshole or something, you don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“Jesus Christ, Tony, when have I ever not told you when I think you’re being an asshole?” Rhodey said and gave him a playful shove before going serious. “Now, because I know you’ve been burned with this shit before, I’m going to say this without laughing in your face. Just this once. Yes, we’re friends. You moron. Now, budge over.”

Tony made room for Rhodey on the sofa and tried not to show any visible relief.

He’d just been checking. He hadn’t lost sleep over the thought of losing him or anything. Or gone completely round the bend.

“How are _you_ doing?” Tony asked, changing the subject. “I’ve got the next generation of leg-braces ready, if you feel up for it.”

“Yeah, about that,” Rhodey said. “We’d better put that on hold until I have a chat with Dr. Cho.”

“Still no feeling?”

“No. But it…” Rhodey looked suddenly sheepish. “Truth be told, that actually predates the magical bullshit. I might have been pushing myself harder than the doctors recommended. A lot harder. I might have taken a fall in the gym. On my back. On a kettle bell.”

Tony stared at him. And stared. And stared. And then he punched him on the shoulder.

“ _You_ … You owe me at least twenty million coffees in reparations for worry, you _idiot_! Why didn’t you go see a doctor right away?!”

“Look who’s talking.” Rhodey quirked his eyebrow. “Also, you can take the coffees out of the ten thousand armours _you_ still owe _me_ for not telling me your arc reactor was poisoning you. At least I wasn't days or _hours_ from dying.”

“Touché.”

“Did you know that Sam showed up in mom’s place?”

Tony absolutely hadn’t known. God, what a breach in security. Though he strongly suspected that Vision had known and carefully omitted that particular detail.

“I’m pretty sure I explicitly told all of them to keep out of the US.”

“I have it on very good authority that Sam, Cap or any of them wouldn’t even pass the salt, if you told them to,” Rhodey grinned.

“That I _did_ know,” Tony said ruefully. “Should I be glad he ignored me?”

“Yeah. He helped me a lot.”

“I’m sorry _I_ didn’t.”

“Bullshit,” Rhodey said simply. “Tones, we have to do more to get them back home. Legally. You up for it?”

Tony thought about it.

Rhodey obviously missed Sam like… well, like one misses a limb.

And Tony… It _burned_ , but Tony had to talk things through with Cap.

He was tired of ignoring the festering wound he'd left behind. Tired of bleeding strength over resentments, of pouring all of his energy into keeping himself from going under.

Not to mention that they would need the team sooner or later. Hopefully later. But they’d need the team and they wouldn’t follow him, maybe not even Rhodey. Cap was the one they rallied around. That much was painfully clear.

Also he’d be damned, if he conceded this big of a victory to Ross. He was man enough to admit that that might’ve been the deciding factor. He was nothing if not petty.

Tony nodded.

“Tomorrow.”


End file.
